


Failure to Communicate

by hideeho



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Learning To Communicate, M/M, Minor Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Self-Destructive Behavior, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22966201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hideeho/pseuds/hideeho
Summary: They don’t talk about it and they certainly don’t name it. It’s easier that way. If they name it then he’ll know what he’s lost when Buck moves on. There is nothing wrong with this plan.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 782





	Failure to Communicate

If he had to pinpoint how he first got himself into this situation, he would have to go back to the groceries. 

“Dad, can we get these?”

Eddie braces himself for whatever sugar filled concoction his son is going to hand him, slightly impressed he could even find something in this aisle. He already knows how this is going to go. He’s going to tell him that it’s junk. Christopher is going to give him that _look_. Eddie will compromise that they can get it if Christopher agrees to eat extra vegetables at dinner without complaint and he’ll convince himself he’s not a total pushover. 

Instead, what he finds himself saying is this: “Kale chips?”

“Yeah!”

“You don’t eat kale chips. I _certainly_ don’t eat kale chips.” They’ve been living in California too long. 

“ _Dad_ , they’re not for us. They’re for Buck!”

“Buddy, Buck can buy his own groceries.”

“But he’s coming by later and they’re his favorite. Abuela says it’s important to always be considerate to your guests. Don’t you want to be considerate?”

He knows that look. He knows he’s being played. Eddie sighs as he drops the package in the cart. When they get home he shoves it on a shelf to collect dust and promptly forgets all about it until Buck finds it during game night. 

“Dude, I can’t believe you finally tried these! They’re great, right?”

“If you like cardboard,” Eddie grunts, crinkling his nose at them like they might come to life and force their way down his throat. 

“Ha. Ha. It’s not my fault you have destroyed your taste buds with decades of garbage. Why do you even have them if you don’t like them?” 

“Because you do,” he answers with a shrug and Buck gives him a look that makes his stomach flip. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, I wanted to.”

“It was actually _my_ idea,” Christoper interjects from the door frame, squealing in delight as Buck picks him up with a spin. 

“I paid for them,” Eddie mumbles, having enough decency to feel bad about attempting to take credit for his son’s kind gesture. He wants to be the reason for that look on Buck’s face for reasons he refuses to analyze. They’re only stupid kale chips, but Buck acts like they’ve given him a pile of gold. Had no one ever bothered to pick him up something just because? 

“Either way, I appreciate it. In fact, I appreciate it so much I’ll even share!” Buck can only laugh as both Diaz boys make the same face of disgust. 

And just like that, Eddie’s suddenly picking things up for Buck whenever he runs errands. There is a spot in his fridge for Buck’s kombucha, a place on the shelf for his protein powder; he even finds himself acquiring a taste for this craft IPA his best friend is obsessed with. It’s the bare minimum, really, but Buck’s face always goes from surprised to beaming and it’s become a high he can’t help but chase. 

“Here. I got you this.”

“You got me a mug?” 

“Yeah, Christopher and I each have our own special mug. Figured you needed one. You’re over here enough.”

“Why is there a deer on it?”

“Buck. Deer. Get it?”

“Oh my god, you are so lame,” Buck laughs, teeth blindingly white against the flush of his cheeks. 

“Yeah, yeah, so you keep telling me. What does that say about you if I’m your best friend,” Eddie challenges.

“That I spent too many years having hot wild fun and now I long for boring normalcy.”

“So glad I can help,” Eddie sulks, rolling his eyes in deflection. He knows Buck is only joking, but take away the job they share and Eddie knows he’s boring. He’s a single father whose idea of a wild night is staying up until eleven playing video games and ordering pizza with cheese in the crust. Buck getting bored seemed more of an inevitably than anything. 

As if sensing his sour mood, Buck wraps a long heavy arm over his shoulders. “Hey man, I wouldn’t trade a single one of our game nights for anything. Or this mug. I love it, deer and all.” They sat like there in comfortable silence for a moment, Buck not moving his arm and Eddie not minding. “Does the name Buck really make you think of deer?” 

“No, but you are a lot like Bambi when you’re on ice. I only went with this one because it came with free shipping.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” Buck wasn’t wrong there. 

Slowly (or was it quickly?), Buck is ingrained throughout their house. The mug led to a toothbrush, which led to his own towel and then a bathroom drawer full of his toiletries. Buck never brings his own things, careful not to intrude, but Eddie makes a point of stocking them all the same. 

By the time Buck has his own drawer and spot in the closet, game nights have turned into sleepovers more often than not. Eddie likes having him here and Buck likes the excuse to stay. Eddie tells himself he’s just being practical. Buck is his best friend and a tremendous help when it comes to Christopher. It doesn’t make sense for him to have to go all the way back to his apartment when he’s just going to come back the next day. 

They don’t talk about it. Just like they don’t talk about the way Buck’s hugs tend to linger a little longer, or the way they always sit pressed side by side regardless of the empty space around them. They’ve always had a tactile friendship, Buck is simply more comfortable around him, that’s all. 

They’re just two close friends. Best friends. Which is why it’s perfectly normal that he knows that Buck likes to be the big spoon on the couch, long legs dangling off the edge, lean fingers running through Eddie’s hair only to tug lightly at the end to elicit a sigh Eddie can never quite hold back. Which has nothing to do with why he’s growing his hair back out. Nope. Not at all. 

So what if he also knows that Buck likes to be the little spoon in bed? His large body curled in on himself tightly, only content when Eddie is draped against his back, his chin resting on his shoulder. Or that Buck runs hot everywhere except his feet, two frigid weapons Buck likes to use against him whenever possible. 

Or that he knows the way the meat of Buck’s thigh gives under his teeth; the feel of Buck’s mouth wrapped around his cock wet and warm. Or the harsh pant of breath Buck releases when Eddie cants just hips sharp and just _so_ when he’s inside him.

Okay, so what they have is more than a standard friendship, but Buck is in no rush to define it and neither is he. 

So they don’t talk about it and they certainly don’t name it. It’s easier that way. If they name it then he’ll know what he’s lost when Buck moves on. There is nothing wrong with this plan. Or there wasn’t, until the other Buckley got involved. 

He doesn’t even realize Maddie has cornered him in the kitchen until it was too late. Of the two siblings, she is by far the craftier one. Oh, she looks innocent enough, but he knows an ambush when he sees one.

He can hear Buck’s heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. If he can just stall her for a few more--

“So, what exactly are you and my brother?” Buck stops abruptly, clearly content to eavesdrop rather than perform a rescue. Buck had many amazing qualities, but stealth was never going to be one of them. 

“What do you mean?” He is not above playing dumb.

“I _mean_ , what are you and my brother?” 

“We’re--” Friends stopped cutting it a long time ago. Partners? Factual on several levels, but too informal. Boyfriends made them sound like teenagers and lovers made him want to stab himself in the eye. He was too old and too old fashioned to claim to be above labels. 

“We’re family.”

“Like siblings,” Maddie asks, the challenge clear in her tone. 

“No,” he answers, far too quickly judging by Maddie’s amused expression. “But we’re family.”

“What are you two talking about,” Buck barges in, as if everyone in the room didn’t know he had been eavesdropping the entire time. 

“You,” Eddie answers in unison with Maddie, shooting her a conspiratory grin that makes Buck narrows his eye in suspicion. 

“Yeah, you two aren’t allowed to be alone together. I don’t trust it.”

“But I was just about to show our dear Eddie some baby pictures!” Buck groans as he half-heartedly tries to wrestle Maddie’s phone from her hands and just like that it’s Buck’s turn to be in the hot seat. 

Buck doesn’t bring it up, but judging from the way he gives Eddie the single best orgasm of his life that night, Eddie gathers he approves of the label. 

“Not only have they still not fixed the faucet,” Buck laments a few weeks later, attacking a stalk of broccoli with particular vengeance, “but then he has the nerve to tell me that they’re raising the rent.”

“So move out.”

“I can’t just move out.”

“Why not?”

Buck rolls his eyes. “When would I have time to look for apartments, let alone move?”

“I’m not saying you should look at apartments. I’m saying you should move in here.” Eddie tries not to read into the way Buck’s shoulder tenses or that he refuses to look up from where he’s chopping. Had he really misread things that badly? “You practically live here anyway. Hell, you didn’t know a pipe had burst in your apartment for three days because you were over here--”

_Oh._

He really had misread things that badly. Buck’s face is pinched and he’s jumpy as if one wrong breath would send him running to the door. “You know what, forget I said anything. It was a stupid thought,” he rushes to correct, kicking himself for thinking so impulsively. Buck is the impulsive one for a reason. “It was a terrible idea.” 

“Eddie, I--”

“No, I get it,” he cuts him off, suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin. “Just forget it. I’m going to check on Christopher, I’ll be right back.” It was cowardly to use his son to get out of the room, but he suddenly feels flayed open; raw, exposed and coming up wanting. 

What did he really expect? Sure, Buck didn’t seem to mind playing house, but he had his own place to get back to at the end of the day. He had an escape from the tantrums, mess and mundane domesticity that was their lives. Buck was twenty-seven, he hadn’t signed up for all of this. Eddie should have known better. 

Worse, Eddie did know better. He simply thought that maybe this time--

No, he wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. 

Idiota. 

Like most things, they don’t talk about it. 

They still spend more nights together than apart, but there is a tension now that was never there before. Eddie is thankful in a way. He had gotten too comfortable. He needed the reminder that this couldn’t last; that it was only a matter of time before Buck moved on. He could feel himself building his walls back up, protecting himself from the inevitable pain. 

Buck for his part seemed to be determined to make things normal again. The more Eddie held back the more Buck pushed forward. He threw himself into everything, lavishing Eddie with affection and attention as if to make up for not giving Eddie something he had never offered in the first place. 

The whole thing tastes bitter on Eddie’s tongue. When Buck’s kisses turn sweet and loving, Eddie is quick to turn things rough and desperate. When Buck turns attentive, Eddie becomes evasive. He picks fights for the sake of picking them and Buck just _takes it_. 

Eddie wants him to snap. Wants him to finally admit that this isn’t going to work. To leave like he knows he will. Eddie wants him to stop trying so hard when it’s only going to make it that much worse. 

“Why are you pushing that sweet boy away?”

“I’m not.” He was. 

“I’m not stupid, mijito. He makes you happy. He makes Chris happy. That makes me happy. I’m an old woman, I just want to know you’re okay,” his abuela says sweetly, peppering in the guilt with an ease that was as impressive as it was infuriating. 

“I’m okay, abuela. _We’re_ okay, I’m just tired is all.” 

“Fix this.” As if he has ever been able to fix anything. 

He doesn’t fix things. Buck finally snaps. 

“What is your _problem_?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie says, as if he hasn’t spent the last hour since Christopher went to bed pushing Buck’s buttons. 

“What is it going to take for you to forgive me,” Buck presses, pinning Eddie against the counter. Sometimes he forgets how tall and imposing Buck can be when he wants to be; barrel chested, muscular and just tall enough that Eddie has to lean his head back to meet his eyes. 

“You haven’t done anything to forgive.” A truth. He hadn’t. It wasn’t his fault Eddie asked for more than he had been offered to him.

“Bullshit. Things have been weird for weeks. You think I’ve missed how you keep picking fights? You’re not exactly subtle, _Diaz_.” He has the gall to look cocky at the annoyed glare his last name elicits from him. “So what’s it going to take, huh,” he adds, knocking Eddie’s shoulder back with his hand. 

“ _Don’t_ ,” he warns. 

“Or what? You’ll yell at me? Good! Get it out of your system.” 

“I don’t want to yell at you, Buck,” he says quietly, in stark contrast to Buck’s rising volume. 

“Then what,” Buck snaps, pushing Eddie’s shoulder again. “What’s it going to take? Maybe you want to hit me. Is that it? Do you want to take a swing?”

“ _No_ ,” he snarls, surprising them both with the vehemence in his voice. That one word takes everything out of him and he finds himself slumping back against the counter. Is that what Buck really thinks of him after all this time? That he’s some violent bastard capable of physically hurting him? That he’d _want_ to hurt him?

How could he have been so wrong about everything? 

Eddie finds himself sliding past a confused Buck, still struggling to figure out what the hell just happened. He’s pulling on his tennis shoes without even thinking, not bothering with socks. He needs out. He needs air. He needs to be anywhere but here. 

“Eddie, I---Eddie, come on. Don’t leave, where are you going?”

“I can’t be here right now,” he replies, unable to bring himself to look at the other man. “Can you please stay here with Christopher?” _I don’t want you to leave. I never want you to leave. That’s the problem._ “I can’t be here right now.” 

Eddie is out the door before the other man can finish nodding his head. 

His keys, phone and wallet are in the house so he takes off walking. Only his thoughts insist on following him, running an ongoing list of all the ways he comes up short. He’s not sure when he starts running. Maybe around the time he wonders why Buck is so comfortable taking a punch from him, from someone who loves him. 

He runs until his thoughts are clouded by the steady thump of his heartbeat in his chest and sweat stings his eyes. He runs until a sharp cramp in his side throws his breathing off rhythm. He runs until his heel rubs raw against his shoe; his shoe slowly filling with blood. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, only that when he returns home they’re both look far worse for wear. 

Buck’s blue eyes are rimmed red and Eddie’s stomach drops. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I didn’t mean to make you run away,” Buck says softly. Eddie sighs, dropping himself on the seat next to Buck at the kitchen table, his knee bumping against the younger man’s. 

“You didn’t make me run away. I know I’ve been a prick. I’m sorry,” he adds, bringing a hand to rest on Buck’s shoulder, his thumb tracing the jut of his collarbone through his shirt. “But I need you to know I’d never hurt you. Not physically. Not on purpose.”

“ _I know_ ,” Buck rushes, bending forward to wrap his large hands on either side of Eddie’s face. “I know you wouldn’t. I was being stupid. I can feel you pulling away and I wanted a reaction out of you, you know? I never meant to upset you, Eddie. I mean I did, but not like that, I swear. I’ve been kicking myself since I said it.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Eddie breathes, pressing his forehead against Buck’s shoulder. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“For pushing you. For creating this mess in the first place.”

“What are you even talking about? Eddie, you’ve never pushed me into anything.”

“About moving in. Making you feel trapped.”

“Eddie, you _idiot_. Of course I want to move in! Are you kidding? All I want is to be here with you and Christopher.”

“Then why--”

“I was scared. I was scared you’d get sick of me or I'll annoy you and you’d regret ever asking me. I was scared because the last time I moved into someone else’s place they left the country and never came back. I was scared of losing the best thing that ever happened to me,” Buck says incredulously and Eddie can’t quite process what he’s hearing. “I didn’t trapped, Eddie. Is that why you’ve been pushing me away?”

“I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with,” Eddie admits, leaning back against the kitchen chair. “I guess I figured that if you were going to leave it would be easier sooner rather than later. I know you love Chris, but Chris can only be a reason to stay with me for so long.” 

“You can’t really think I’m only with you because of Chris.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person.” He hates the way his voice cracks. Hates the look Buck is giving him now. 

“Chris isn’t the reason I’m with you. Yes, I love Chris. You know I do, but I’m with you because I want to be with _you_. I’d want to be with you even if Chris wasn’t in the picture.” 

Eddie wants to believe him, he does. So for a moment he lets himself, pulls Buck in for a kiss that tests his already tired lungs. “Sorry, I know I’m sweaty.”

“I like you sweaty,” Buck teases, breath warm against his neck. “Although, I wish you were sweaty for other reasons. Now are you going to tell me why you were limping when you came in?”

“I wasn’t limping.” Judging by Buck’s sharp glare he’s guessing he was. 

“It’s nothing. My shoes rubbed my heels, that’s all.”

“Let me see.”

“Buck---” His feet are already in the other man’s lap and all he can do is wince as Buck peels off his shoe and a piece of skin with it. His heel is raw and angry and he knows it’s going to sting like a bitch in the shower for days. “It’s worse than it looks.”

“You’ve got stop hurting yourself,” Buck sighs, Eddie’s stomach twisting sharply at the pained look on the other man’s face. 

“I know. I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s the easiest thing to feel,” he says, surprising himself with the honesty. “I’ll stop if you’ll stop taking my shit.”

“That’s not the same--”

“It is, Buck. You can’t be so afraid of upsetting or disappointing me that you can’t be honest with me. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to _take it_. I need you to trust me, to trust _us_ enough to be honest with me.”

“Are you advocating communication for a healthy relationship?”

“Shut up, asshole.”

“You realize you’re giving me conflicting messages here,” Buck smirks, rubbing his ankle, gently avoiding the injured flesh. 

“Me vuelves loco!”

“You love me anyway.”

“I do.”

Buck uses one hand to grab the leg of Eddie’s chair and drag close enough that Eddie’s legs are dangling over his lap. Fuck, that was hot. “Ask me to move in again.”

Eddie studies his face, looks for any trace of nervousness or regret. “Buck, will you move in with us?”

“Okay, but you should know you’ll never get me to leave.”

“That’s the idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are loved and cherished!


End file.
